


Golddangler

by AnonEhouse



Category: James Bond - Fleming
Genre: Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:40:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/AnonEhouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Bond appreciates beauty, even if it's not wearing a bra.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Golddangler

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sidrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidrin/gifts).



> I loved the prompt, but didn't have time to do it seriously, or in detail. I hope this crack-fic take on it amuses.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"Bond. James Bond. I have a reservation."

"Yes, sir, it's all arranged. Will you step this way, sir," the bellhop said, his hips swaying rather more than was absolutely necessary. Bond noticed. As his eyes went around the luxuriantly decorated lounge, he noticed quite a few men noticing him.

"If I could step that way..." Bond said in amusement, letting the cliché go unsaid. Sometimes things were better left unsaid, particularly in an establishment of the sort this was, unless he was quite mistaken. Q had a funny sense of humor, telling Bond this was his reward for a job well done. Then again, Q was an odd duck.

The bellhop looked over his shoulder at Bond, smiled and touched his tongue-tip to his upper lip. He said, "I'm Dick Blows." Once again, Bond's instincts were infallible.

"I'm sure you are." Bond wasn't in the slightest prejudiced; he liked blonds as well as blondes. He patted Dick on his arse.

"Here we are, You're in suite seven, sir." Dick's eyes were a striking shade of lavender, just matching his silk shirt, which was unbuttoned halfway to the waist. "That's my lucky number."

"It is tonight." Well, there weren't any women in sight. Any porthole in a storm, that was Bond's motto.

Dick opened the room. Bond had just time for an impression of shadowy figures in a darkened room before he felt a strong push at his back and was flung into the room. He had the advantage, he felt, as he didn't have to worry about hitting his allies, but they were remarkably accurate with their punches. It wasn't until he clawed in the general direction of a face, and pulled off a pair of night-vision goggles that he realized the deck had been totally stacked against him. A needle sunk into his backside and he slumped to the floor.

"That's done 'im. Turn the light on."

Bond gazed blearily up from the thickly carpeted floor at a group of handsome young men, all well-built and wearing silk shirts unbuttoned halfway to the waist—or further in the case of the few he'd been able to grapple with in the dark. He couldn't tell if any of the shirts matched their eyes. But he did notice that the goggles looked remarkably like Q's latest issue. "If this is a joke... I hope you're not expecting me to laugh."

The circle of young men parted to allow a tall man dressed in a cloth of gold suit to approach Bond. He had oriental features, smooth golden-tan skin and wore a jewel-encrusted tie-pin depicting a rainbow ending in a pot of gold and gold rings on every finger. The man had a remarkably deep voice. "No, Mr. Bond, I expect you to die. Repeatedly."

"Who are you?" Bond refused to be intimidated. Whatever they'd shot him with, it only paralyzed his limbs. His mind was working furiously. They wanted him vulnerable and aware, able to talk. Well, he wouldn't tell them anything.

The man smiled, revealing teeth that would be beautiful once the golden dental appliance had done its work. "I'm known as Golddangler. For reasons that will become obvious to you."

Rape is a not uncommon hazard in the spy business. Frankly, while Bond wasn't keen on it, it did allow the clever spy more opportunities for escape or, in certain circumstances, the chance of temporarily bringing the enemy to one's side, so to speak, than other forms of torture. "Do you always have to drug your dates?"

"No, not always." Golddangler smiled again, glinting brightly. "For you, I'll make an exception. Your machismo stands in the way of my plans." He gestured to the young men. "Take him."

They picked Bond up and put him in a wheelchair, neatly tucking a red plaid blanket over his lap to hide the handcuffs fastening him to the sides. As they wheeled him through the lobby he saw Dick Blows. "No tip for you," he growled.

Dick grinned and blew him a kiss. No one in the lobby seemed to think this unusual.

There was a luxuriously large golden helicopter waiting on the lawn outside the hotel. Bond was bundled inside while Golddangler looked thoughtfully at him from the ground. "I do wish I could spare the time to handle you personally, Mr. Bond, but there's so much to do." He sighed. "I have assigned my best men to you. I'm sure they will make your stay with us memorable."

"Stay? Does that mean you'll release me?"

"Oh, yes, eventually. When you come around to our point of view." Golddanger's eyes hovered around crotch-height on Bond. "I should hate to be forced to kill you. It would be such a waste."

"Oh, I quite agree." Bond didn't fight as they strapped him into the seat even though he was beginning to regain control of his limbs. He was curious now. What sort of plot had he stumbled into. And was Q in it? Anyone could be a traitor, of course, but somehow he'd never thought of Q as caring about anything except making gadgets. He looked around the helicopter as it took off. The pilot and the other four men were all young and handsome, with well-developed bodies they showed off in what he was beginning to think of as Golddangler uniforms. A few had visible tattoos and piercings. Skin tones ran from milky white to darkest ebony.

"Right," he said over the gentle thwup-thwup of the helicopter rotors. "So, you men are going to brain-wash me."

"It's not really your brain we're interested in," one of the men said. He smiled. "Ivan Biggun," he said pointing to himself. "That's Will Swallow." A wave of his hand at the red head with fox-green eyes. "Peter Fondling is on your right, Ben Dover to your left. Woody Hughes is our pilot. We're Golddangler's elite ."

"Elite what?"

"You tell us. Later." Ivan ran his hand down the front of Bond's shirt. "This won't hurt a bit."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Ivan laughed as he bent close to offer his mouth for a kiss. After a moment's hesitation, Bond accepted, telling himself he was just putting them off guard. Ivan was a very good kisser, Bond found.

In the end, Bond stayed with Golddangler's elite for a little over a month before seducing Ivan into helping him steal Golddangler's nuclear mini-sub. Golddangler followed with a full crew in a larger sub. The submarine race ended under the arctic when both subs were trapped by shifting ice floes.

"Serves him right," Ivan said as Golddangler cursed as the larger sub was crushed. "The icebergs wouldn't have melted except for him. His plan was to increase Global Warming so everyone would have to go around naked."

"He was a madman, but he did have a few good ideas," Bond said as he helped Ivan out of their sub and over to a convenient igloo.

Ivan grinned and pulled Bond down onto a pile of polar bear furs. "You were supposed to be our poster child.'Bond bares all' is already in top secret documents leaked to the Russians and the Americans and M.I.5. Q got an extra copy for himself."

"Oh, well, in that case, there's no sense me hiding my light under a bushel, now is there?" Bond tossed a flask of whale oil to Ivan and began stripping. "Come here and show me a Biggun."


End file.
